


In a world where things are not what they are

by froggybaby



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Post-Break Up, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24654634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggybaby/pseuds/froggybaby
Summary: This is just a sad vent fic I wrote at 3 am. There's so much angst and no comfort. If you wanna have a good poetic, dramatic cry, proceed. I'm really sorry
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	In a world where things are not what they are

**Author's Note:**

> I usually write happy things but life got in the way. Have this dramatic piece of despair instead.

In a world where things are not what they are, maybe Jaskier would be on the coast. He'd feel the wind in his hair, and maybe there would even be Geralt at his side. He would think ''It's been hard, but here I am. Here we are.'' Except things are the way they are, and the way they are sucks. 

It sucks painfully, almost as painfully as when the witcher slammed the door two hours ago. Almost as painfully as the burn of tears on Jaskier's cheeks. Because he apparently never gets to have this. He thinks, knows, he deserves it. He sees beauty everywhere, and sings it as loud as he can so everyone can taste beauty for awhile. He's a kind, respectful lover. He loves like nobody else loves, like nobody else will ever love. 

Maybe that's the problem. 

Maybe that's what made Geralt leave. Maybe Jaskier should just have gone to sleep after their love-making, instead of softly, slowly touching Geralt's beautiful face. Maybe he should have stopped trying to get him to say those three ridiculous words. 

He'll never know if he was too much or not enough.

Not that it matters now. Because there's no changing the harsh words, the slam of the door he can still hear. There's no changing her name on his lover's tongue. In a few hours, the innkeeper will want the room back. Jaskier will pay with whatever's left from last night's performance, when he was still high with hope and happiness, catching his love's eyes from the other side of the room.

Jaskier will pay and walk out with close to nothing, and he'll walk until he can't walk anymore. He'll walk until he's drained from ideas, until he can't make songs anymore, until he has no coin. If he reaches the sea, maybe he'll smile to himself, smile at the way Destiny is the most fucked up things humans ever came up with. He doubts he'll ever reach the coast he's so often dreamt of, but he'll walk until he hears no rumours, no words of the White Wolf and the pretty sorceress passing through town. He'll walk with no plans, he'll walk without really wanting to walk. And if someone offers their help, he'll spit them in the face. When he reaches that place he doesn't even know yet, the place that already feels so empty and full, he'll collapse, on the grass, the dirt, the water. Whatever's under his feet at the moment. 

Jaskier hopes he'll have it in himself to look at the sky one last time, to gaze into the emptiness of the abyss with such despair, love, hate, yearning, and whatever his soul wants to scream. He'll be content if he just closes his eyes and goes like that. In the end, after all those declarations and rows and fights, he'd hate his death to be dramatic and long. He deserves the quiet. He deserves some fucking calm, after everything he's done for others, everything he's done for him. 

Jaskier will be content if he dies a restful, poetic death, as every self respecting bard should. He's not sure if he cares about his songs being spread around the continent, because all of his songs are about the witcher. He cares about what's left for him out there, and if the answer sounds sadly like that empty feeling inside of him, then he knows he has to get up and get on the road.

And if in a few years, a witcher with white hair passes by his grave and starts weeping, then that's the witcher's own fucking problem.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this sucks and I probably won't even remember writing it tomorrow, but tell me what you think <33


End file.
